Sus gritos resonaban en las paredes de aquella casa, en la que ahora solo la muerte vivía y andaba. Con los ojos desorbitados, la cara lívida, el pelo erizado, Louis gritaba. Los sonidos que salían de su garganta congestionada eran como las campanas del infierno, unos gritos terribles que marcaban la pérdida no del amor, sino de la razón.

Bellowing, angry roar.Smell of blood and evergreen.

That one smooth black eye stared, and reflected in it I fancied I could see the cyclopeon city, and the endless column of the marching dead.

There’s an idea that hell is other people. My idea is that it might be repetition.

stop now before i kill youa word to the wise from your friendPENNYWISE

Fire will kill anything.

Oh Christ, he groaned to himself, if this is the stuff adults have to think about I never want to grow up

As I said at the beginning, this is a horror story.

Old trees want to hurt you. It doesn't matter if you're snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, or just taking a walk in the woods. Old trees want to hurt you, and I think they'd kill you if they could.